Jasmine's Secrets (Chapter 7 and ¾ - #1) (Patreon)

Jasmine's Secrets

By Jay Tee

Chapter 7 and ¾.

The Glorious Days of Jasmine & Charlie

And here we are once again, my readers. My peeps. Several years have passed since I told you the fulfilling story of Jasmine Stuart’s Secrets and those of her friends as well, and so time flew and so many other things occurred in this vast, wacky and unpredictable world. I saw it all. What? Me? Oh, you know me… Good ol’ me. I hardly change much, my interests have fluctuated no more than a few particles per atom during this brief period of time, always looking for the next person to help to come out from the Fat Admirers closet.

But you are not here to hear a story about me, you are here because last time we encountered I omitted to mention whatever happened to the exultant and thrilled Jasmine just right after she met the wider side of Charlie Barlowe. So, shall we fellows?

Saturday. October 26. 2004.

It was a warm Saturday morning. Too warm for Fall, but it seemed global warming had been getting started earlier that year. Charlie was seated at small kitchen table still finishing his sixth glazed donut when a chubby, 185 pound Jasmine who had herself polished off her sixth by then, received a phone call.

"Hey... --It's Ra’shelle... the one you met yesterday?-- I took it," she said to Charlie.

“Mmm-uh...” the thin man mumbled and swallowed. “That chick is super-duper skinny; you should help her out to fill those bones!”

“Shhht!" Jasmine snapped, holding her cellphone with both hands. "You could stand to be a little …less …thin-o-phobic! Now be quiet so I can hear!” exclaimed the frowning girl, eager to hear what her friend had to say. On the other end of the line, Ra’shelle's frantic voice can be heard. She sounded shrill and judging by the volume of her apprehensive tone, she was quite upset. Charlie took the plates and started to wash them in the kitchen sink while Jasmine’s face grew pale at what she was hearing.

Five minutes later she was out walking the streets partially concealed by a baseball cap, a pair of shades and a baggy gym jacket –all Charlie’s items–, speeding up the eight blocks to her friend’s apartment and worried about the intelligible sobbing Jasmine heard on the phone moments earlier. Ra’shelle was clearly in trouble; totally distressed about “something she'd done”.

This was also the first time Jasmine was out there in broad daylight showing a fatter version of herself, and so for as much as she was concerned about her friend, she couldn't help but feel a mixture of shame, fear and pride. In any case, she was unrecognizable with Charlie's cap and shades, rapidly discovering that nobody was shocked or even noticed her brisk walk and relaxed her pace. She eased into a thick stride, taking the moment to catch her breathe despite her lingering concern over her friend’s distress signal.

Jasmine arrived and hit the intercom of her companion and best friend's apartment building. Ra’shelle Jelani-Williams was her co-worker at the editorial publishing house, working as a columnist for a prestigious women's trends magazine. Granted they hadn't known each other especially long, but they bonded quickly and developed a sort of chemistry that became the cornerstone for their affinity. Little Jasmine knew about her friend before their actual jobs, and it was exactly the same for Rach. I’d say they both were soulmates when it comes to fatness, as simply as that.

“Jasmine here! Let me in.”

The buzzer sounded and the 190 pound woman pushed the heavy door in. She took the first elevator and hit the eight floor button. It was an ampler lift, almost twice as big her own building’s elevator, and that –Jasmine thought–, it would be good for future visits. The girl on her future boyfriend’s jacket planted in front of the apartment 8-C and knocked on the door instead of pressing the bell.

The lock cracked and the door opened in a rapid swing. Jasmine saw something that overpassed and cracked all her previous concerns, expectations and cosmologies. Rachelle. Not Ra’shelle. Hair Ra’shelle. Face Ra’shelle? Fat Ra’shelle. Fat Ra’shelle? Whaaaat? So fat!?

“Yeaah, it’s me, dumb-ass. I’m fat. You are smaller again, wow… not Twiggy skinny level but smaller!” an obese fluffy Ra’shelle said.

The former bone sack was completely transformed by layers of fat. Jasmine’s best friend was wearing a spotted crop top too ragged to contain her massive breasts while her belly hung loose and free. Below, she was wearing nothing but a pair of short-shorts, partially hidden by her drooping, flabby gut. Ra’shelle's bare arms and legs were fat and saggy, crossed here and there by stretch marks and cellulite. Her cleavage –once almost nonexistent– was now huge and deep, and along with it, her jaw line while previously sharp had now vanished, totally covered by a thick neck ring double-chin. She looked the size of three Ra’shelles put together. Her eyes were clearly blotched by crying. The ebony giant in the doorway looked the complete opposite of the professional sharp and sizzling writer businesswoman Jasmine recalled.

Jasmine was left dumbfounded and said... nothing. She just stayed there, removed her shades and her eyes became the size of two eggs. She was trying to babble but nothing intelligible came out.

“Oh, c’mon in. Don’t stay there like an idiot, I don’t want any inquiring neighbors see me like this... Again. Well, I mean, right now…" She paused and sniffled momentarily and continued, "Oooh… I need my friend right now.” Fat Ra’shelle said. Jasmine proceeded to follow inside her impossibly fat best friend not sure where real life ended and this her mental Fat Admirer world began.

Boxes of pizza. Lots of boxes. More than a dozen perhaps.

All these boxes were sprayed all over the place. There was something strangely familiar in that scenario, as Jasmine recognized the remains of a binge on display –one she experienced herself– but of course she have never been able to beat that mark, not to mention being somewhere near.

“I ate two pizzas once” Jasmine finally said after removing her cap, still looking at the pizza boxes. Then she centered on her impossibly fat bestie. “How did you get so fat?” she gracelessly shot at her friend.

“Wow, isn’t that a bit mean?” Ra’shelle protested at first but immediately sighed and added, “Yes. Fat. Guilty of being a greedy pig.

I’ve always been a fat girl, yo-yo dieting since I have memory. I’ve been called ‘Fatshelle’ since eighth grade. I tried everything to shed the weight over the years and I always just got fat and fatter again, each relapse made it clear to me: I love food. I love it damn much. This is the real me. I’m fat.”

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(Chapter SEVEN and ¾ will continue next Monday ...)

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By Jay Tee (and the style correction of Vilegaramonde)

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Status: ONGOING.
Panels: 39
Year: 2004/2022
Artist Age: 31/48